


When that Misty Morning Comes, I'll be Gone

by skywalkersatsea



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Damsel in distress Jaskier, Geralt has to save his bard, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywalkersatsea/pseuds/skywalkersatsea
Summary: Giants, just like golden dragons, were the stuff of beggars and old myths. Geralt knows this as well as any monster-hunter. Yet very rarely, Geralt ends up eating his words when face-to-face with a mythological creature. Such as the time his bard went missing.In which Geralt cannot believe he has to climb a fucking beanstalk to save his own golden harp.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was about to fall asleep one night and randomly thought "Ja-skier and the Beanstalk. Oh God." Thus this fic was born. As an old OUAT fan and Captain Swan shipper, I've always had a soft spot for adventures and couples falling in love while climbing a beanstalk, so... there's my logic.  
> First Witcher fic, second fic I've published on here! Please be nice :)  
> Title and song that Jaskier sings (eventually) are from Mountains, Gandalf by Christopher Bill

It started, as most things did, with an innocent evening with Jaskier.

Jaskier looking like an overexcited puppy, bouncing around their room in the inn as he pulled on his nicer golden-threaded doublet, Geralt frowning at him as he did so. How Jaskier got into his head that Geralt would willingly play bodyguard at another ball again, he had no idea.

“That ball in Cintra was a one-time thing. I’m not doing another.”

“Oh, come now, Geralt, I’ll let you wear your armour this time, seeing as it’s not covered in selkiemore guts this time-”

“You’ll _let_ me?” Geralt growled as Jaskier hummed, running his hands through his own hair and straightening his boots. He had spent nearly two hundred ducat for a new pair, and the black leather shone as he spun on his heels to clap Geralt on the back.

“That’s the spirit, Geralt! Glad to see you’re warming up to it. These people are rumored to pay well, I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior this time.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher grunted. Though he was unwilling to admit it, Jaskier’s company had been surprisingly… pleasant as of late. Even good enough for Geralt to possibly consider stomaching a night with human nobility. 

_I need no one_ , Geralt recalled himself saying to him. It seemed like yesterday, even though the months since then had flown. He and the bard kept constantly running into one another, until he had finally thrown his hands up, muttered “fuck it,” and the two of them had been traveling together ever since.

“Think of the _food_ , Geralt! The ambience! The finery!” Jaskier grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing them tightly and shoving his signature puppy-dog stare directly at him. Even now, he was still amazed that Jaskier could look into Geralt’s amber eyes without a hint of trepidation. The man was either the bravest human he had ever known, or the stupidest. Or a combination of the two.

Geralt sighed in defeat. “If there’s a single mage there or hint of any bullshit involving a Law of Surprise, I’m out. Got it?”

“Yes, yes, just go drink all you want in the corner and lurk to your heart’s content.” Jaskier gave him a grin. “And watch my back for vengeful lords and ladies, of course. Hopefully by the night’s end, I’ll have enough money to buy a manor in Temeria!”

* * *

Predictably, Jaskier did not end up with enough money to buy a manor in Temeria, as an aggravated Geralt dragged him through the streets back to the inn a few hours before midnight. 

“Geralt! They loved my music! Why did we have to leave early? There were more than a few ladies eyeing me, you know-”

“I told you,” Geralt’s voice was a low grumble. “Putting up with aristocratic nonsense is already pushing my limit. I am not going to stick around for the off chance another mage fucks up my life, no matter how weak she was.”

Jaskier groaned, trying to wrench his arm out of Geralt’s iron grip. “She was harmless! A mage who couldn’t even conjure up a simple plant? Come on, Geralt, I could have had such a nice evening. I had a new song all ready to go…” 

Geralt shut out the sounds of Jaskier’s rambles, sighing under his breath. He wasn’t completely ready to admit the fact that after the ball at Cintra with Queen Calanthe and Princess Pavetta and the fucking Law of Surprise… he was a bit wary of mages and magic, unless it was his own, of course. 

The night had been going well, Jaskier for once staying true to his word and not causing any unnecessary trouble. Geralt had been drinking and observing the crowd alone (“brooding”, as Jaskier said with a wink), when a young mage had emerged from the crowd to demonstrate some of her gifts as a tribute to the lords and ladies present.

Geralt had tried to hightail it out of there immediately, but Jaskier had turned his soft, pleading blue eyes towards the Witcher, and, well. He had been finding it harder and harder to resist that certain stare as of late. He hoped Jaskier didn’t catch wind of it.

The sorceress had timidly stepped forward, producing a small bouquet for the host, Lord-Something or Other, Geralt had forgotten the name. Then she had tried to bless the surrounding lands with a few crops: potatoes, beans- but as a wave of pulsing green light washed over them, and everyone scurried to the windows to see if the produce would magically appear before their eyes, seemingly nothing had happened.

Geralt wasn’t about to stick around to see if the mage’s magic could eventually work, so he had marched over to Jaskier and seized him by the scruff of his doublet to take him back to the inn.

“Geralt, you made us seem downright rude,” Jaskier protested as the pair of them reached the door of the inn, swatting his arm. 

“Too bad,” Geralt snarled. “I told you my terms, and you agreed. Don’t start complaining now.” He was beginning to get a minor headache, whether from his irritation or Jaskier’s whining, he didn’t know. Gods, he’d kill for a job right now, the familiarity of killing monsters, not the aggravation and annoyance of dealing with humans.

“Complaining?!” Jaskier said, eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open. “Oh, I’ll show you complaining, you haven’t seen anything yet, Geralt of Rivia-”

“Excuse me,” a man approached the two of them timidly, eyes on Geralt. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you?”

Geralt held his hand up in front of Jaskier’s face to stop him from saying anything further, and turned his attention to the stranger. “Aye.”

“A job I’ve got for you, please,” the man begged. “It’s small and I don’t have much coin, I grant you, but I’ve no one else to turn to.”

Geralt didn’t need to hear any more. “Lead on.”

“Oh, don’t you turn your back on me and leave, Geralt,” Jaskier hissed, his face turning red and the neck of his lute clenched in his fist. “I’ve got a lot to say!”

“I bet you do,” Geralt said, anger finally taking over his irritation. He tightened his armour, checking the fastenings on his sword. Renfri’s pin on the hilt of his sword gleamed in the dull light. “I’ll be back before dawn. You can yell at me then.”

He turned his back on the frustrated bard, his mouth still gaping open like a fish. It was better like this, Geralt decided. Let them take some time away from each other, blow off some steam… Jaskier was normally more forgiving in nature, anyway. He’d forget about it by morning.

Right?

* * *

“Stupid, arrogant prick,” Jaskier muttered, plucking the strings of his lute and furrowing his brows when the notes came out sharp. “Thinks he can do and go whatever he pleases, nevermind what I want…”

He walked over to the window and pushed it open, letting the coolness of the night flow into the room. Sitting down on the window’s ledge and draping one leg over the side, he continued to fiddle around with his lute until he had tuned it again.

He closed his eyes and began playing the opening chords to his new song. It was a composition he was quite proud of, refusing to share the lyrics with Geralt until it was finished. The chance to debut it at the ball was something Jaskier had been eagerly waiting for; to him, it didn’t deserve to be sung at just any random tavern or inn. 

And then Geralt had gone and dragged him off before he got his chance, scared of a harmless mage with plant magic.

 _Whoever said Witchers don’t feel emotions are idiots. They can_ , Jaskier thought to himself. _Just the wrong ones._

Jaskier tried not to think about it as he continued to play, humming quietly and swinging his dangling leg back and forth. His emotions soon got the better of him, and a single tear ran down his cheek.

 _Geralt, you stupid, selfish Witcher_ -

A low vibration shook the inn, interrupting Jaskier’s thoughts. He stopped playing and turned behind him, waiting for someone to enter the room.

“Geralt?” He asked, furiously rubbing the tears out of his eyes, lest the Witcher catch him in such a depressing state. “Geralt, is that you?”

No footsteps were heard from the hallway, so Jaskier faced the streets again as another vibration came, this time stronger.

He craned his head to the left, to the direction Geralt had disappeared to earlier, half-expecting to see the Witcher crashing through with a monster hot on his heels. But the town was eerily empty, not a single person out and about.

Jaskier slid the strap of his lute over his shoulder, gripping both sides of the window ledge as he cautiously leaned forward, his heart pounding away with fear of the unknown.

And screamed as he found himself lifted out of the inn and enveloped in darkness.

* * *

It was barely past two in the morning when Geralt made his way back to the inn, weary from the job the stranger had given him. Another kikimora, this one on the outskirts of town, was terrorizing travelers near the poor man’s house. While it was smaller and easier to dispose of than the one Geralt had killed on the outskirts of Blaviken, it still took a lot of energy out of him. Though confronting Jaskier would be awkward and unpleasant, to say the least, he was still looking forward to a hot bath and rest. Hopefully the bard would be asleep at this hour.

What he wasn’t expecting was the stench of an unfamiliar monster as he made his way through the tiny town, people’s faces peeking out carefully from behind doors and windows as he walked through the main streets. Geralt kept a hand on his sword, eyes scanning the deserted road in front of him and listening for any tell-tale signs of a struggle.

All was quiet when Geralt entered the inn, but he didn’t let his guard down as he opened the door to his room that he was sharing with Jaskier, zeroing in on the empty beds.

It took all of two seconds for Geralt to realize that Jaskier was missing, his empty lute case open and discarded on the floor. The scent he had picked up earlier grew stronger as he approached the open window, searching for any clues, hints of what could have happened to Jaskier-

A soft knock on the door had Geralt whirling around, drawing his sword at the stranger who cautiously stepped into the room. He soon realized it was the innkeeper, pale and shaking as he approached the Witcher.

“Is your name Geralt, by any chance, Witcher?” He whispered.

Geralt nodded, lowering his sword carefully. A horrible sense of dread was beginning to creep over him.

“The bard was taken,” the innkeeper’s voice shook. “By an enormous creature none of us have ever seen before. He was yelling your name- please, I’ll pay anything for that monster to never come back here again, anything!”

Geralt hadn’t even listened to the end of the man’s sentence before he was rushing out of the room and back out the door. Payment be damned, the moment he heard Jaskier was kidnapped, he had already made up his mind to go after him.

He chose to leave Roach tied up at the inn and sprinted on foot; he wasn’t about to let his horse get into any unnecessary danger, especially with a monster he had never encountered before. The scent hadn’t had time to fade for long as Geralt followed it to the opposite end of town and to the forests beyond, back towards the manor where Jaskier had brought him to earlier that evening for the ball. 

As he made his way through the thicket of trees, he saw something large looming in front of him, the shape beginning to take form the closer he got to it. It appeared to be a tree, but as Geralt came closer he realized it looked like a stalk of beans. If beanstalks could grow as large as a centuries-old oak tree.

Geralt let his eyes wander up to where the enormous plant disappeared into the darkness of the night, miles away from where he stood, and swore under his breath.

The mage from the ball hadn’t been weak. In fact, her magic might have been some of the strongest he’d ever witnessed. And now, because of her, he had to face his biggest monster yet.

Fucking fantastic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt climbs the damn beanstalk and finds his bard, but he's not quite in the same shape he was left in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely blown away by the amount of feedback I've gotten, especially for my first Witcher fic! You all are wonderful- thank you so much for your sweet comments!!  
> I'm sorry for the wait, work got hectic and then I got sick for a week :( but I hope you enjoy a longer chapter to make up for it!

Geralt normally wasn’t one for lighthearted stories of knights saving damsels in distress and fairy tales of kidnappings by a terrible monster. He found them aggravating and misleading- most of the time, the entire thing was just bullshit pulled out of the storyteller’s mouth. Ironic, given one of Jaskier’s favorite things in his songwriting was to twist their travels to make them more adventurous to the listener.

And here he was now, climbing a damn beanstalk and chasing a giant, of all things, to save his bard.

It had dawned on him the moment he’d reached the beanstalk in the forest, along with the memory of some folkstory he’d heard years ago on his travels. Something about beans and magic and a boy rescuing a golden harp, surfacing from the back of his mind. 

_Think_ , Geralt urged himself as he kept hoisting himself up higher and higher. The forest below him had disappeared a long time ago, and the clear skies were his only companion. What did he know about the giant that took Jaskier?

Well, he had no clue how large it would be, or how tall. He knew it at least had to be as tall as a two story building, since Jaskier was kidnapped from their room on the second floor. 

_Thank you, Geralt, that’s very helpful_ , he could almost hear Jaskier’s sarcastic retort next to him. 

“Well, what can I do? I’m already coming to save your ass,” Geralt growled to himself, almost slipping on his next step as he braced himself from a strong gust of wind. “Fuck-”

Climbing the monstrosity at night was one thing. But climbing with the winds whipping at his face, blowing his white hair in all directions, and nothing but his hands and feet to prevent him from falling to near certain death? Any man would think it suicidal. Fortunately, Geralt’s strength and senses were more advanced than any human’s, and his determination to reach Jaskier was more than enough to keep him from falling.

He couldn’t help but worry, gritting his teeth as he willed himself to climb faster. Jaskier was only human, after all. Mortal. As brave as he could be in the face of danger, there was still the fact that he could get hurt a lot more easily than Geralt could. It hadn’t been a big issue, since most of the time he’d linger at a safe distance with Roach when Geralt would take a job, always ready to bolt should things go south. But now, with the two of them separated and Geralt not knowing what was happening to Jaskier with every minute that had passed-

It terrified him.

“You’ll be alright if you use that brain I know you have,” Geralt spoke to the open air, as if Jaskier could somehow hear him. “Hold on for me.”

_Fuck, Jaskier, please hold on._

He looked up, the end of the beanstalk still not visible yet, and swore again.

This really had to be the most aggravating plant on the Continent.

* * *

An hour after reaching the top of the beanstalk, Geralt had slipped into the gargantuan castle at the top, and was currently stalking through the maze of hallways and rooms inside, trying to track the scent of the giant to lead him to Jaskier.

Which was proving to be more difficult than anticipated, seeing as the stench was fucking _everywhere_. He had no way of knowing which way they had gone, so he had resorted to checking every space, listening for heavy footsteps or Jaskier’s tell-tale voice.

_Or screams_ , his inner voice supplied.

He shoved down that thought as he kept moving. It would be fine. He would be fine. 

He stopped at the entrance of the largest room yet, twisting his mouth into a scowl as he looked around. The ceilings stood nearly fifty feet high, held up by impossibly thick wooden beams. The walls were bare, and there was barely any furniture, which would have made it unimpressive had there not been a handful of lit torches catching the light on the mountains and mountains of golden objects scattered in piles around the room.

The giant’s scent was stronger in this place, but it appeared to be empty. Right before he turned around to try another route, however, his ears picked up faint music coming from the far corner. 

It was the most promising lead yet, so he began to follow it, one hand ready on the hilt of his sword as he eyed the treasures around him. There were heaps of statues adorned with precious metals and stones, pouches and vases overflowing with coin, and even a few gold-plated instruments lying around that made Jaskier come to mind. It could be any man’s paradise, if it wasn’t the lair of a dangerous monster.

The music grew louder as Geralt kept moving, and _yes_ , there was no mistaking it, that was definitely the sound of a lute. His heart beat faster as he went into a full sprint, ignoring the ache of his already tired legs as he followed that familiar sound, knowing it would lead to his bard-

He found himself facing an enormous wooden cabinet, the surface of which stood ten feet above his head. And there on top, in a rounded, gold-plated cage draped with deep blue cloth....

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed.

He was slumped against the side of the cage, idly strumming his lute and singing under his breath. Geralt was surprised to see the instrument had miraculously stayed intact.

At first glance, Jaskier appeared unharmed. There weren’t any cuts or bruises visible on his face, but he looked completely exhausted; Geralt spotted large, dark circles under his blue eyes, which were rimmed with red. His normally bright face was swollen around his lips and nose. 

With a start, Geralt realized he’d been crying.

He gave a low whistle to get the bard’s attention. Jaskier’s head shot up and his mouth fell open in shock when he saw Geralt hoisting himself up the cabinet, as if he couldn’t believe that Geralt would actually come for him.

He reached the top within seconds and rushed forward to try to wrench the door open, cursing as he was met with resistance. Then he looked into the cage, and all of his fatigue and earlier fears faded on the spot, because Jaskier was in front of him, alive, and playing his lute, and all would be well soon-

“Jaskier, you’re okay,” he said, his fingers curling around the bars.

"Geralt," Jaskier whispered, a weary but relieved smile spreading his face. "Oh, thank the gods you've come Geralt, I've never been more happy to see your grumpy countenance in my life!"

It was then that Geralt picked up the tang of blood in the air, and he noticed that the strings of Jaskier's lute had cut through a few of his calloused fingers from excessive playing. An hour more and they could be well on their way to tattered ribbons of flesh and bone.

"Jaskier, stop, your hands-"

"I can't stop playing," he said quietly, his eyes shining with unspilled tears as he looked quickly towards the darkened hallway that led out of the room. "I can't stop or it'll come back to threaten me. It’ll kill me if I refuse, and I’m not as strong as you, Geralt, I won’t last that long against it-”

“You’re not under a spell or anything?” Geralt asked quickly. “You can stop if you want to?”

Jaskier nodded, wincing as a drop of blood rolled down his thumb.

Damn it to hell, but Geralt’s heart panged at the sight of seeing him so terrified and hurt.

“I’m getting you out of here. Just- let me think,” he muttered, crossing his arms. Jaskier watched him carefully, flinching now and then as his beloved instrument hurt him further.

“You're not hurt anywhere else?" 

Jaskier shook his head. Geralt let out a loose breath, relief spreading over him. Glancing quickly around the large room, he noticed that there weren’t any windows to be seen. Jaskier probably had no idea it was already daytime. 

"It’s early morning now, but did it go to sleep?” Geralt asked.

“I don’t know,” Jaskier said, his bottom lip quivering. “I was too scared to stop playing to find out.”

_I don’t care how big the bastard is, I’ll kill it_ , Geralt thought to himself.

"I didn’t mean to put myself in danger," his voice shook as he continued. "I tried-"

"We can talk later," Geralt said quickly. A heartfelt discussion would do them no good now, especially when they were both tired and worn and in the lair of a fucking giant who could appear at any moment. "Right now we need to get out of here. I'll figure this out, alright? Can you trust me with this?" 

Jaskier nodded again, his blue eyes brightening a little. “Of course I trust you, Geralt." 

Geralt paid no attention to the surge of unfamiliar warmth coursing through him as he studied the lock, scowling. It was a solid block of bronze, with no keyhole, but he recognized the familiar hum of magic radiating from it as he held it. It appeared to have a simple spell that kept it locked, nothing a forceful blast of his magic couldn’t break… but making more noise than necessary wasn’t the best option. 

“I’ll try to break it without using force, but if we’re desperate, I’ll resort to that. So sing while you play,” Geralt growled, his eyes quickly scanning the room. “It’ll help mask the noise.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where Geralt of Rivia doesn’t want me to stop singing,” Jaskier muttered from behind the bars, but did as he asked, shifting the chords to an unfamiliar melody. 

_I know you've heard it all before,_

_Take these muddy waters, turn them blue again_

_I've never known what I've been headed for_

_I've never known where to begin_

_But as daylight is breaking, the whole world is waking_

_And when the morning comes I'll be gone_

_I'll be gone, gone away, help me I don't know_

_Why my futures keep repeating faster as I go_

_Darling, it's been a while since I've seen you smile_

_So we'd best not go alone_

Geralt had been frowning in frustration at the lock, but let his attention waver as he listened to Jaskier’s voice, husky and worn from lack of sleep. The lyrics were full of a melancholy Jaskier had never sung about before, more raw emotion in the words than any of his older songs about past lovers.

“That was the new song you had prepared from last night, wasn’t it?”

“Geralt,” Jaskier sang his name to the tune, “I appreciate your appreciation for my marvelous song-writing skills, but now is definitely not the timeeee,” he held out the last syllable. 

Geralt glowered at him, though there was no real bite behind it, and flexed his hands. The longer the two of them sat there, the more danger they were in. 

“Fuck it.”

He shot a pulse of magic to the lock, Jaskier flinching as the blast made a loud clang, echoing over and over in the vast room. But Geralt didn’t pause as he flung the door open and ran into the cage, lifting Jaskier to his feet. 

"Oh gods, Geralt," Jaskier mumbled, wrapping his arms around the Witcher in a fierce hug and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Geralt, for once, didn't hesitate as he held him tightly in return.

“Don’t leave me again,” Jaskier’s voice was muffled into Geralt’s shoulder. “You hear me?”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, breathing in the familiar smell of earth and wildflowers. Not that he’d admit it out loud, but he missed it; the warmth and reassurance that was Jaskier and his scent, that he had gotten used to smelling wherever they traveled. 

Unfortunately, Jaskier didn’t seem to share the sentiment. "Not that I don't appreciate your presence, Geralt, but you smell horrendous," Jaskier wrinkled his nose as he pulled away from him. With all that had happened, he almost forgot that there were still remnants of kikimora splattered on him from the night before.

"You're right. I could've taken my sweet time getting here and bathed beforehand, just to appease you," Geralt narrowed his eyes, taking the blood-stained lute from him and slinging it over his armour. 

"I didn't mean… no, that's fine, that's fine," Jaskier stammered. "Right. Erm, do you know the way out?" 

"Down here," Geralt said, extending an arm for support as they stepped out of the cage and onto the wood of the cabinet top. Jaskier gratefully took it, but as soon as his skin made contact he bit his lip, stifling a cry of pain. "Geralt, my hands…" 

Geralt looked at them and clenched his jaw. The cuts were clotting now that he had stopped playing, but more slowly than what Geralt would’ve liked. Thank the gods he skipped the bath.

"We'll have to wait until we get back to heal them properly," Geralt's low baritone was soft and apologetic. "Wrap them in this." 

He reached up to grab a fistful of the linen cloth above the cage, and ripped a large piece off. Jaskier's head shot towards the hall, waiting in dread for those heavy footsteps to appear, but it was quiet as Geralt tore the piece in two. 

He took one of Jaskier’s hands, and ever so gently, wrapped the fabric around and in between his wounded fingers. It was almost comical, the way his large, toughened hands compared to Jaskier’s long, thin musician’s ones.

The warmth in his belly grew as he felt Jaskier’s breath hitch in front of him.

“I’m sorry I don’t have salve with me,” he murmured as he worked, feeling the intensity of Jaskier’s deep blue eyes on his face, rather than his hands. “Can you push through the pain for a little while longer?”

“I’ll try- damn, Geralt,” he swore as Geralt’s fingers brushed a particularly tender spot. “Forgot how rough your hands were.”

Amber eyes met blue, and Geralt remembered a night that seemed like ages ago, of a drunken Jaskier taking Geralt’s hands in his and asking if he had any feeling in them left, from how scarred and calloused they were after years of battles and fighting. Geralt had swatted him away, though not until he had let Jaskier run his fingers over his palms for a moment or two, just to indulge him. 

It seemed that Jaskier, though he had claimed to be too drunk at the time, remembered that night too, since he looked away quickly and flushed a faint pink.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed to fill the silence, ignoring the sound of Jaskier’s heartbeat that was definitely speeding up, ignoring the thrill in his own stomach that craved more, more of… whatever this was. 

Maybe, just maybe, that was the reason why he tied the knots and tucked them under the cloth a little more slowly on purpose. Jaskier didn’t need to know. 

“Right,” Geralt said, stepping away from the bard once his job was finished and surveying the cavernous room, all business again.

“Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about the y e a r n i n g.  
> Comments/kudos appreciated!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos appreciated!


End file.
